Murk and Mud
by Rjalker
Summary: Swamp monsters, obols, and ambushes, oh my! Every planet has its quirks, but on most planets, you're allowed to actually /talk/ about the planet. Not on this one, though. And the punishment for breaking that rule? Well, there's nothing like a good swamp monster horror story to make you want to explore the universe...right?
1. Chapter 1

Sam was drowning.

Her mouth opened in a voiceless scream, and more of the swampy water slammed into her lungs and filled her throat, choking her until the thrashing of her limbs—because _something_ had grabbed a hold of her arms and legs and had wrapped itself around her ribcage—and the terrifying press of the water was all she knew.

How had this happened?

Not even a minute ago she'd been following their guide—Deia Marous, the boy had called her, the old woman who was so shrunken and tired by age that she rode on his shoulders—across the swampland's path that they inhabitants of the planet had built, Colonel O'Neill and Daniel infront of her, and Teal'c behind, in his usual protective stance. She remembered hearing a sound in the dense rain-forest trees to her right, and a flicker of the light out of the corner of her eye...

...And then she was drowning.

There was no in between.

One moment she was alive and breathing and happy.

And now...

The thing wrapped around her chest squeezed tighter, and fire raced along her ribs in agony that wanted to choke the air from her soul.

Against her will, her mouth opened again, in a scream, in a cry, in a desperate gasp for the oxygen _that wasn't there_, and her lungs again filled themselves to the breaking point with the filthy stagnant water that filled the swamps of the planet whose name was never to be spoken.

Deia Marous used the wooden cane she carried to slam into the head of anyone that dared even mention the word _planet_ in her vicinity. It would have been funny, if not for the bruise that had erupted on her cheek, and the knob on the back of her head.

She could feel it now, the blood that had long since dried, drifting away from her skin to mix with the murky depths, floating away in translucent strands of deep crimson against the impossibly dark green that met her sight when she dared to open her eyes.

But the water burned like acid, forcing her to keep herself blind and lost as she battled against the—what was it? Some sort of plant? Had she gotten tangled? Was it an animal? A squid? A _snake_?—_thing _that was keeping her trapped beneath the water that should have only been a foot deep.

But no, _no_, they'd been warned, hadn't they? Deia Marous has warned them, as she shook that damned cane threateningly at them. They came for the ones that talked about the planet. The world as a whole, she said, was holy to them. Anyone that dared breach the taboo disappeared before a day had passed.

She'd never said who 'they' were. Never even bothered to explain anything.

But she'd made sure to stay as far away from Sam as possible.

_Jolinar!_ The word was a scream in her mind, desperate for an answer. But the symbiote didn't respond. Jolinar couldn't hear her.

The silence in her head was as deafening as the crush of water around her.

For all Sam knew, she was dead already.

Lights danced chaotically in the darkness behind her closed eyes, and the movement of her limbs was slowing. Weakness tugged at her bones, until she couldn't even find the strength to lift her arms in another desperate attempt to reach the surface swirling somewhere above her head.

The thing wrapped around her chest now the only thing keeping her in place, her arms drifted limply, and one last bubble of air found it way out of her lungs and into the green water that pressed down upon her.

Her mind struggled to piece together one final word against the fog rolling in on her, and she opened her eyes for one last glimpse of the water around her, as though hoping, by some miracle, that she would see her symbiote twisting through the murk, safe and alive to go on without her.

_Jolinar_…

But the darkness was absolute, and she could still feel the weight of the Tok'ra in the back of her mind.

They were going to die together.

If she'd been able to, she would have cried.

Martouf and Lantash would lose everything again, and they would lose them. Jack, and Daniel and Teal'c would refuse to go on without her. They wouldn't give up on rescuing her even if they knew it was pointless. They would keep going until they pulled her lifeless body from the swamp.

They all shared nightmares of drowning.

And now they would have another wreath to send through the wormhole. Another casket to lower into the ground. Another lost soul for the Tok'ra to mourn.

She faded to darkness not long afterward, her arms held out to the sides by the pull of the water, her head tilted toward the surface, eyes blank and staring.

* * *

><p>On the surface, a single bubble of oxygen had clawed its way to the surface, where it rested amongst the algae and water plants, reflecting back the distraught and horror that painted the faces of everyone standing on the rickety wooden platform that carved what was supposed to have been a safe path through the treacherous mire.<p>

The old woman who sat on the shoulders of a young boy crossed her arms over her chest, and kicked at his shoulder with her feet. "Let's go, Baiam." She growled in her raspy voice, "If these fools want to be taken as well, then let them."

The old woman didn't even flinch when Jack O'neill pulled his gun out and aimed it in her direction, and neither did the boy carrying her.

"Your weapons won't work anymore." She called over her shoulder as they began to walk away.

She'd warned them what would happen if they broke the taboo.

These people said they were explorers, that they wanted to learn.

Maybe now they actually would.

She'd lost a granddaughter to the Murk, and she would never forget it.

She had a feeling that these "explorers" would now be much more inclined to _listen_ to what she had to tell them. They hadn't believed her about the Murk, and now one of them was gone.

She almost laughed at the irony, but settled for grinning widely as the 'team' dragged themselves along after her with hushed whispers and snarls of anger and disbelief.

No doubt, they'd finally noticed the soldiers that stood between them at the Ashna-ring. They weren't leaving the swamp until her people had answers.

But she would make sure they were sent back to wherever they had come from with an obol for their lost companion's soul.

They didn't want any more ghosts hanging around the Ashna-ring than they had already.


	2. Chapter 2

Deia Marouse gazed intently at the two Tau'ri and their womb-walker companion from her perch on Kaiam's shoulders, the obols she had redovered from the Spring of Heretics burning cooly in one ancient, knobby hand. Baiam had traded duties with his twin sister the day before, and if her memory served her (which she knew it did), he would now be out learning to hunt with his mother.

The outsiders were gathered in a small group at the edge of the village, their leader, the second oldest, speaking in sharp tones, and gripping his weapon of black metal with a white knuckled hold. The womb-walker remained silent, his expression taut and grim.

For a few more minutes, the argument went on, the voices held too low for her to make out the words, until the youngest gave a frustrated growl, and stormed away.

In her direction, incidently.

"Forward, Kaiam" She said softly.

The girl moved forward without hesitation, her movements smooth and purposeful so that Deia Marouse was barely even jostled.

The young Tau'ri noticed her immediately, and some of the anger left his expression, only to be replaced with tense wariness and regret.

"Deia Marouse," he said, respectfully, and sweeping one hand out to touch her forehead with the back of his hand for a moment, as he had been taught, in the formal greeting demanded of non-kin when interacting with her, and obviously doing his best to disregard Kaiam's presence, "I am sorry to tell you, but my friends and I, we will not be staying. Our leaders, back on our-I, I mean, our leaders have recalled us. They no longer trust our judgement concerning your people because of..." Pain reached his eyes, but he continued firmly, "Because of what happened to our friend."

This news was not unexpected, and Deia Marouse nodded slowly, understanding. But said, before he could speak again, "You wish to discontinue our negotiations?"

They had answered the council's demands for information easily, though at first reluctantly, upset as they were over their friend being taken. Her people had been assured that the explorers truely meant no harm, despite the fact that they counted the womb-walker as a trusted ally.

The young man shook his head quickly. "No, no, my people still wish to be friends, but they are going to send another team to negotiate. If, of course, that is acceptable to the council?" He did not make it obvious, but it was obvious nonetheless, that he wished her to say that it would not be.

"That is acceptable." She said, dispelling whatever hopes he had. "You will be leaving soon, I gather?" Her gaze darted toward the heavy pack he had over his shoulders, that he had first worn after exiting the Ashna-ring, and had removed the day before, after his people had been given one of the guest houses to use.

His face became regretful once more. "Yes," he confirmed, "Right away, in fact. Jack is insisting on it." He attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Before you leave," she said, her voice turning solemn, "I must speak with your people. Your leader, and the womb-walker, must be present for my words as well, for they concern you all."

A hint of worry entered the young man's face, but he nodded, and turned to gesture to his companions that they should approach.

Deia Marouse would have lifted an impressed eyebrow if the young man hadn't already turned back to her. He learned quickly.

A small hand gently squeezed her leg.

"My granddaughter thanks you for your consideration." She said, "As do I."

It was not formal, any of it, but then, there were exceptions to every rule.

The leader's face was as sharp as his words before when he stood before her, his weapon held high against his chest so that she would see it, his scowl dark with bitterness and impotent anger. The womb-walker was impassive, but solemnly inclined his head to her when he stood next to the young man.

She spoke before the leader could snap out the words so obviously waiting on his tongue. "You must take these." She said softly, lifting the hand that held the obols, "And place them in a pool of water at a place of reverence to you." She opened her hand to show them the obols, cool against her aged palm.

"Your friend was not a single soul residing in a body." She said.

It was not a question, but the young man spoke up, as though it had been.

"Yes, you mean Jolinar." He said softly, "Sam was a Tok'ra."

Her mouth twitched slightly at the casual tossing about of names, but she nodded.

"Three obols, for the three souls." She said, "And three companions to carry them to their final resting place. Hold out your hands." She said sternly.

The young man and womb-walker did so, but the leader narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Obol?" He questioned flatly, turning his head to look at the young man.

The young man nodded quickly. "It's a type of coin. It's used to pay the ferryman who helpsthe dead to cross the river separating this world from the afterlife."

The leader's frown deepened. "Well why do we need them, then?" He demanded, switching his gaze between her and the young man. "You're not going to kill us in some sacrificial ritual, are you?" He asked, his tone only slightly sarcastic. His grip on the weapon tightened.

She gazed at him calmly, unperturbed. "My people have not practiced such barbarism for many hundred years." She said flatly, growing weary of his disrespect, "Hold out your hands."

This time, they all did as commanded and she turned first to the leader, who glared at her still, and only reluctantly held out one hand.

"The soul of the woman." She said, dropping the white obol into his outstretched hand, "Care for it well, Jack O'Neill. It is not some foolish trinket to be discarded at a whim." Her gaze bored into his for a few moments, and his eyes glowed with the flames of anger. But he said nothing, and she turned next to end womb-walker.

"The soul of the serpent." She said, pressing the dark blue stone into his hand. His fingers curled tightly around it, and he bowed his head once more.

"I will make sure it comes to no harm." He said softly.

She nodded, gladly, and turned to the young man.

"The soul of the child." She said, setting the ice-blue obol against his hand.

His fingers closed around it, but his face showed nothing but horror and shock.

"W-what?" His voice was hoarse.

"Child?" The leader snapped, his eyes now blazing, "What the hell do you mean, child?" He took a step forward, his entire body tensed with waiting violence.

"They are all of them equal in weight." She snapped, her paitiende thinning at their callous rejection, "We do not simply abandon that which is lost to us." Her voice was cold. Had she misjudged these outsiders so wrongly?

Beneath her, she could feel Kaiam tensed with anger, but her granddaughter managed to restrain herself from speaking, as she had been taught.

But she knew what she was thinking. It had been two years since Daiam had been lost to the murk, but there was no forgetting the loss of a sibling, and no forgiving of the disregard these outsiders were showing for the children they had become.

"Are you telling me Carter was pregnant?" He leader's voice was incredulous and enraged, and filled with horriblepain. "How-wait," he suddenlyspun to face the young man, face contorting, "Why did you get-"

"There's been some sort of mistake." The young man said, interrupting his leader, his voice almost calm again, as though he had remembered something he had forgotten, "Sam couldn't have been uh, with Jolinar's host, any child she had would be a harcesis, especially with Lantash and Martouf as the father. And ther's no way that could happen. Sam wouldn't have, uh, um-" he seemed to stumble over his words, before he realized what his leader had been saying, his eyes widening in shock. "Jack, how could you think-no, no, nevermind. that doesn't matter." He shook his head, then turned to gaze at her seriously. "What do you mean by child?" He asked, "We don't understand. To us, a child is, is an infant. A baby. A kid. It doesn't mean anything else as far as we know."

Deia Marouse lifted her eyebrows. "I see..." She said slowly, frowning deeply. "Your friend. The woman, and the serpent. They are now no longer as they were. They are new. They are the child." She shook her head, when it became obvious the young man wanted to press further. "We do not speak of them." She hissed. "To speak of them is to draw them to us. You must not speak of it. You must not speak of your friend any longer, or you will endanger us all."

They had already spoken the names of the woman and serpent once. And the leader had referred to the woman by her family name. Twice more, and...

"You must not speak their names." She said, starting to become worried, "You must not name them. You must not."

The leader glared. "Why not?" He demanded.

"Ja-Jack, just don't." The young man said, stopping the leader when he opened his mouth to say more. "I already explained it to you last night."

"Well I wasn't listening." The leader snapped, glaring, "Why the hell can't we say Sa-"

"O'Neill." The womb-walker said firmly, turning to give the leader a sharp glance, "Daniel Jackson has explained already that these people have a name taboo. For you to speak the names of the dead, after they have already requested that you not, would be a grave insult. Is that not correct?" He looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded sharply, her esteem of him going up immensely.

"Many Native American tribes practiced the same thing," the young man explained, his tone one of tired impatience, "they believed that calling the name of an animal would make that animal hear you. For instance, instead of calling bears bears, they refer to them as 'grandfather', or 'old man', or even 'hey you with the ears'."

"Then these people you speak of arewise." Deia Marouse saidgravely, her anger slowly settling back down.

"In fact," the womb-walker once again interrupted as the leader went to say something, "I believe the act of breaking the taboo would be sufficient enough of an offense for these people to break off all further negotiation and trade agreements, would you not agree, Deia Marouse?"

Womb-walker or not, she was beginning to like him.

"Indeed." She agreed, staring hard at the leader, who still looked ready to protest. "Such an act, and especially after being informed of its seriousness, would be unforgivable."

It could even start a war, but she did not tell them that.

"Once you are returned to your people, you may speak freely." She said, feeling they should have some allowance, "But while you are guest among my people, you will abide by our rules." Once they stepped through the Ashna-ring, they would be too far away for the children to be able to hear their names being called, and thus would cause no danger.

"Take care of the obols." She said firmly, giving them one last glance over, "And place them in a pool of water in an area of reverence to you."

Then she pressed one foot into Kaiam's shoulder, bidding her granddaughter to turn back toward the center of the village, ending the conversation, and leaving the outsiders their own business. No doubt, they were anxious to return to their people, and would not hesitate to reach the Ashna-ring before too much time had passed.

"Shall we see if your brother has had any success with his hunting lessons?" She asked as they walked, giving her granddaughter permission to speak by asking a direct question, "I am hungry, are you, as well?"

But Kaiam never had been one much for speaking, even with permission, and only hurried excitedly toward her family's dwelling where cooking spoke was rising from the roof in answer.


End file.
